


Mason and Gray, Investigators: The Retlin Case

by okiebeebrarian



Series: Mason and Gray, Investigators [1]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Baby-Sitters Club Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okiebeebrarian/pseuds/okiebeebrarian
Summary: Marguerite "Cokie" Mason, known arch-nemesis of the BSC, is all grown up, straightened out, and living her best life as a PI in Stoneybrook. Things are going well - and then Kristy Thomas walks in and suddenly Marguerite is back to navigating middle school relationships while also investigating a possible kidnapping. With her husband and fellow PI Alan Gray at her side, Marguerite is determined to crack the case, even if that means enduring emergency BSC meetings.
Series: Mason and Gray, Investigators [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060916
Comments: 27
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“I knew the dame was trouble when she walked in.”

I looked up from my desk. Usually, cracks about my profession come from men who are mad that the Mason of Mason and Gray, Investigators, is a woman and not some chain-smoking Sam spade type. This time, though, the person who was channeling Raymond Chandler was a woman standing in the doorway of my office.

And, to be fair, I DID know she was trouble when she walked in. It didn’t have anything to do with her “pegs” or her hair or the tone of her voice or the way she sashayed over to my desk (because I’d bet real money she’d never “sashayed” in her life). Mostly, I knew she was trouble because I knew HER. Kristy Thomas.

Talk about trouble. I’ve known Kristy for years. As in, since we were in school together as kids. We were never what you would call friends. Sometimes, we were definitely what you would call enemies, especially during eighth grade.

Man, eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I’d swear that year lasted a decade. Maybe that’s why it so strongly colors my view of everyone I shared it with. Including Kristy. Including my partner – in every sense of the word – Alan Gray.

Schoolyard beefs aside, though, Kristy walked in representing not just my past but a paying job, and really – if you can’t let bygones be bygones in a small town after twenty years, you’re in a bad way. So I opted for the high road.

“Kristy! It’s so good to see you. It’s been a while. How are things going?”

She gave me A Look. “If things were going well, do you think I’d be here?”

Touche. She had a point. People don’t come see me because life is all roses and lollipops. They come see me because they have a problem that they – and, frequently, the police – can’t solve.

“Good point. Let’s skip the pleasantries. What can I help you with?”

She looked around our tiny office. “Is Alan here?”

Kristy and Alan had had a love-hate relationship since middle school. Alan was always the class clown, which didn’t sit well with no-nonsense Kristy, but for some reason they always got along better than she and I did.

“No; he’s out on a case. You’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

She sat down in the chair across from me. “Good. I was hoping to talk to you anyway.”

Color me surprised. To my knowledge, Kristy had never in her life “hoped” to talk to me. At best, she tolerated it.

“Really? What’s up?”

She shifted in the chair. “It’s a situation that requires some… delicacy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I can be delicate. Alan, not as much. Except in some circumstances, but I doubt you need him for any of those situations.”

She grimaced. “No. Eww. Alan wasn’t my type even when I thought I liked guys.”

I took a slight offence at that. Alan may be a goofball, but he’s also a warm, kind, caring person and the best friend (and lover) I’ve ever had. But then again, we weren’t there to debate taste in romantic partners. “So what’s the delicate situation?”

“It’s about a kid.”

Of course it was. With Kristy, it was almost always about a kid.

Not in a creepy way. In a really sweet, caring way, much as I hate to admit it. Even when we were younger, Kristy had a knack with kids. In that eternally-long year in middle school, she and some of her friends even had a business – The Babysitters Club – where they sat for families in town. Weird as it is now to think about having a thirteen-year-old watch your kid, the business model worked well back then.

Kristy grew out of the club, but not out of her love for kids. Or her love for being in charge. Now she’s a full-on Girl Boss, running a nanny agency serving three counties. Half my friends use her nannies, and half of the rest of my friends are on waiting lists for her nannies. They’re supposed to be the best in the business.

I pulled out my phone and opened the app I use for keeping my clients straight. “What about a kid? And what kid?”

She sighed. “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy. But one of the kids we watch – well, something’s not right in that family.”

I looked up from my notes. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Kristy. What do you mean something’s not right?”

“Well, the short version is that we’re almost certain the kid isn’t actually the parents’ child.”

It was my turn to give her A Look.. “And how do you think you know that?”

“Blood types.”

“Excuse me?”

She sighed. “I said that was the short version. The long version includes a lot of context. First of all, we ask all of our clients if there are any custody issues we should know about. Usually that’s a quick question - or at least it gets to a straightforward answer - but this time, the parents went out of their way to say no, absolutely not, Joseph has always been ours, he’s all ours, even has dad’s eyes and mom’s nose. Like, they hammered it home. Which was a little odd in and of itself, but whatever. But then our nanny asked about blood types.”

“Is that something all your nannies ask for some reason?”

“No. But Sara’s parents put a lot of stock into blood types and what they say about a person. She does too, to some extent, and she likes to use that as an ice-breaker with families - a little bit like some people might ask about Zodiac signs. So she asked their blood types. The thing is, she is also a biology major. When they told her their signs and Joseph’s, she realized immediately that there is no way that’s possible - that mom and that dad couldn’t have a kid with that blood type. Now, I know what you’re thinking. There are lots of explanations for that. He could be adopted and they’re just REALLY trying to make it seem like he’s not for some weird reason. They could have used a sperm donor, an egg donor, or both. The mom could have had an affair. We have worked with families in all those situations. None of them - and really, none of our families, period - go to the lengths these people have gone to to convince us they are really his parents. So beyond the whole blood type thing, it’s just the general feeling that something is not right.”

“Okay.” I finished my notes. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Your usual snooping, I guess? Just see what you can find – is this kid really theirs? Is this a situation where we need to intervene in some way? Do I need to involve the police?”

I nodded. “I can do some digging. I’ll just need their names and any other information you can share. One more question.” I hit “print” on the contract. “Why didn’t you want to see Alan about this?”

Kristy sighed. “Well, that’s the awkward part. The kid’s dad? It’s Cary Retlin.”

This must have been old timers’ day at Mason and Gray, Investigators. Cary was one of Alan’s best friends growing up. If Alan was the class clown, Cary was the class prankster – less flagrant with his tricks than Alan was, but more devious. Not in a mean way, usually. He was just sneakier. Alan, Cary, and Pete Black were tight in middle school and high school, but after graduation Alan went to U Conn (where we had our first attempt at a relationship), Pete got the hell out of Dodge and moved to Seattle for school, and Cary went to college back in Illinois where he had grown up. They lost touch, in that sad way you do after high school: You swear you’ll be friends for life, and then six months later you realize you haven’t spoken in five months. Pete and Alan both ended up back in Stoneybrook, but as far as I knew Alan hadn’t seen or spoken to Cary in years.

“Cary Retlin? Last I knew he was living somewhere outside of Chicago.”

“He’s back. The family moved to Stamford a few months ago. He works with some investment firm up there; his wife works in a publishing house and commutes to New York.”

“Weird. I would have thought he’d at least try to meet up with Alan or Pete. But I guess it’s been fifteen years since graduation. That’s a long time if you haven’t been around here.”

She stood up. “So will you take the case?”

I spun my chair around to grab the contract from the printer. “I will. But you have to understand that Alan is both my business partner and my husband. I’m not keeping this from him.”

She pulled a face but nodded. “I know. And I know he’ll be professional about it. It just seemed like it would be an awkward conversation, you know?”

Tell me about it. I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation myself, now that she had farmed it out to me. “So this is our standard contract. Feel free to read it. Basically it outlines what we will and won’t do: We won’t break any laws for you, we won’t violate our code of ethics, we won’t share details of your case with anyone else except as required by law. We will do keep you updated on developments, and we will, to the best of our ability, find the information you are looking for. This is most likely the only time throughout our professional relationship that I’ll have you sign any paper; mostly I’ll have you digitally sign my notes, reports, etc., so we’re both clear on what’s going on. But I’m just old-fashioned enough that I like a piece of paper for the actual contract.”

She took me up on my offer and read every single word of the contract before signing it. What did I tell you? Girl Boss.


	2. Chapter 2

Most nights, dinner in the Mason-Gray household is not actually in the Mason-Gray household. Five – or six – nights out of seven, we’re out on a job. But Tuesday nights are different. Tuesday nights, barring actual emergencies, we kick off our shoes, cook a meal together, light actual candles on an actual table, and have an actual conversation while we eat off actual plates.

So of course, the night I had to tell my husband our newest case was investigating one of his oldest friends was a Tuesday. It’s so much easier to spill news like that when sitting in a car in some seedy motel parking lot waiting for the money shot of some cheating spouse.

By the time I got home, Alan had already wrapped up his business for the day and had a head start on black beans and rice for dinner. I walked in at the magic moment the sofrito went in the oil.

“Man, it smells good in here.” I dropped my purse and keys and went over to wrap my arms around him from behind. “Looks pretty good in here too. That’s some apron you’ve got on.”

He looked down at the frilly hostess apron he'd pulled off my apron rack. “Why, this old thing? Just something I threw on.”

I chuckled into his back.

Alan is my person. I know it’s weird or old-fashioned or whatever to be so into your spouse, but he grounds me. He can calm me down when I’ve worked myself up, cheer me up when I’m moping, tell the voices in my head saying I’m not good enough to go suck a lemon. (It’s literally the phrase he uses. Don’t ask me where it came from.)

In school in Stoneybrook, we barely interacted. I mean, we were in a small class of students, so of course we crossed paths, had some class projects together, that sort of thing. But I was, to be perfectly honest, kind of awful back then. Not to be a cliche, but I was basically a mean girl, and in a somewhat pathetic way. So I ignored Alan as much as possible because he wasn’t a movie star, and he understandably avoided me because I wasn’t a person anyone should have wanted to be around.

Thankfully, I think I’ve improved. Growing up helped some, as did getting out of Stoneybrook. And so did therapy - my parents insisted I start therapy after some anxiety attacks in high school, and it helped me identify the toxic ways I was acting out my own insecurities at others’ expenses. 

By junior year at U Conn, I was at least tolerable. When Alan and I ended up in the same section of macroeconomics, we started talking again. That led to us dating for a few months - what we now call “Alan x Mitzi 1.0.” We broke it off relatively amicably and went about our lives. Two years later, I was happily working in Stamford and came home for Christmas. I ran into Alan at mall when we were both doing some last-minute shopping. We talked, we went out for drinks, dated for a year, got married, and now here we are, ten years in, and I’m saying things like “he’s my person” like I’m freaking Meredith Grey. (Whereas I’m actually Margeurite Mason-Gray. Alan calls me Mitzi. People who are looking to get on my shit list call me Cokie.)

“Anything I can do to help?”

He gave the vegetables a final stir and added the rice. “Not really. Hand me those beans, I guess.” I handed over the beans, he mixed them in, and I opened the oven for him to slide the Dutch oven inside.

“And now we wait.” He divested himself of the apron and followed me into the bedroom so we could talk while I changed out of work clothes. “How was your day?”

I dug through a stack of his old t-shirts and pulled out a well-worn Stoneybrook Boys Basketball shirt. “Oh, you know. Long. Fine. How was yours?”

He shrugged. “About normal, I guess. But you’ll never guess who I ran into this afternoon.”

I pulled on a pair of running shorts and started to pull on the shirt. “Keanu Reeves.”

“Yeah, you wish. Nope. Cary Retlin. Remember Cary?”

I stopped, shirt half on. “Cary Retlin? Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s so weird. I thought he was still in Chicago or wherever, but I was over in Stamford chatting up some of the caddies at the country club about that golf pro Al Bresowick thinks his wife is sleeping with, and who should walk in but Cary Retlin. Crazy. Apparently they moved back to Connecticut a few months ago. I vaguely remember that he got married, but they’ve got a kid now. Joey, maybe? Anyway. I got his number - maybe we can all meet up sometime.”

I wrestled my arms through the sleeves of the suddenly impossible shirt. “Well, MY afternoon might make that a bit awkward…”


	3. Chapter 3

Alan took the news about as I had expected, which is to say - he thought Kristy was overreacting, but agreed it was a little weird and was glad I took the job. “You’ll spend a few hours digging, figure out there’s nothing there, and bill her for the time. Easy money.”

The next day, Alan was back on the case of the wayward wife and the willing golf pro. We had just wrapped a couple cases up earlier that week, so I went to the office to start my digging.

For the most part, in my line of work, there are two kinds of jobs: The kind that require a mind-numbing amount of digging through files and Internet searches of government documents, and the kind that require a mind-numbing amount of sitting and waiting for someone to show themselves behaving badly. Some, like the one Alan was on, also take a lot of talking with random people - we’ve both perfected the art of making friends easily and with almost everyone - which offers the best chance of entertainment we get. Mind-numbing-ness aside, though, I love my job. It pays the bills, it keeps me busy, and I get to snoop on people in the most legal and socially-acceptable way possible.

You know what? You don’t want the details of where I looked and what dead ends I hit. You just want the results. So suffice to say I spent the day banging my head against a lot of walls but eventually stumbled into a few interesting pieces of info. I called Kristy from my car as I was on the way to pick up dinner and join Alan for a super-exciting stakeout of one of Stoneybrook’s mid-range hotels, popular with philanderers of a certain class.

“Home Run Nannies, CEO Kristy Thomas speaking.”

I gave my car speaker sideeye for that one. “Hey, Kristy, it’s Marguerite Mason. Sorry to call you at work; I thought this was your cell number.”

“It is.”

“Wait, that’s how you answer your personal cell phone?”

She sighed audibly. “Yes. Several of our clients have my personal number, so I try to be professional. Give it a try sometime. Do you have something for me?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I do. Can you come by the office sometime tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s not actually great for me. Hang on.” I could hear muffled conversation, then Kristy came back. “Any chance you could come by our place tonight? We were about to order pizza, if you’re still hungry.”

Was Kristy Thomas asking me over for dinner? Takeout pizza dinner, but still.

“Um, I guess? I need to drop some food off for Alan, but I can be there in half an hour or so. Text me your address.”

I swung through a drive-through to get Alan’s favorite burger meal, dropped it off with a kiss and a quick update on where I’d be, and headed to Kristy’s place. I double - then triple - checked the address when I got there. The house itself didn’t surprise me - it was a gorgeous house, with meticulous landscaping courtesy of her wife, Michelle, who I knew ran a local landscaping business. Rumor had it Kristy’s step-dad, some multi-millionaire, had given each of his kids half a million when they turned 21, with the stipulation they use it to buy their own place outright. 

So I had expected a nice place. I had NOT expected to see six other cars in the driveway. Even if Kristy and Michelle had something against parking in their three-car garage, that still left four other cars there.

Grabbing my bag, hopped out of my car and started up the drive, bracing myself for (a) a completely wrong address or, maybe worse, (b) walking into some sort of social function without time to prepare myself.

Turns out, it was option b.

Michelle opened the door. I’d only met her a couple times, since she didn’t grow up here, but she always seemed nice.

“Marguerite! Come in. How are you doing?”

“I’m good.” I noticed the pile of shoes at the door and kicked mine off to add to the stack. “Am I interrupting a party or something?”

Michelle laughed. “Or something. Come on into the living room.”

I followed her through the foyer and into the open-concept living area, and then stopped. It was like walking into a high school reunion, except possibly worse, because at least a those I had Alan with me.

Kristy’s living room was full of her friends. Not her adult friends, her “met in college” friends, her work friends - her middle school friends. Her “knew me when” friends.

Most of whom justifiably kind of hated me.

Yippee.

Kristy was in the middle of a story when we walked into the room, but she looked up and stopped abruptly. “You’re here! Great. We can get started. Welcome to the first emergency meeting of the BSC in twenty years.”

I don’t know what happened to my face, but something must have, because Kristy burst out laughing. “Kidding! I mean, kind of.” She turned back to face the room and started the (re)-introductions. 

“You know Claudia, right? I mean, you still know Claudia?” She gestured to Claudia Kishi, who I did indeed still know. Claudia was always the most effortlessly cool girl in our class, and that hadn’t really changed. She has this amazing sense of artistic style, which manifested itself in some seriously weird outfits when we were kids, but had mellowed into something pretty amazing now. Like, tonight she was wearing this kelly green linen jumpsuit, belted with a beaded belt/necklace that, on further inspection, I’m pretty sure she made from her own handmade beads. She was barefoot, like all of us, but I would bet money that the hand-painted platform sneakers at the front door were hers. Her hair, which had been super long all through high school, was now cut into some sort of asymmetrical pixie cut, which doesn’t even make sense but worked, and she had these HUGE earrings on, made out of what I can only guess is “found items:” bottle caps, feathers, and what looked like Starburst wrappers. I would have looked like a high-fashion hobo in that getup, but Claudia looked amazing. It would have been annoying except she’s actually really sweet, and I know for a fact that she takes on several of her private art students for free because their families can’t pay. Considering she’s become kind of the hot new thing in the art world recently, that’s a big deal.

I nodded. “Of course. Good to see you, Claudia.”

She smiled. “Good to see you, too! Jeremy Davis said you helped him find his dog the other day - he was so happy.”

I laughed. “Oh, sure. Not my most high-profile case, but I’m glad we were able to track the puppy down. I guess Jeremy is one of your students.”

She nodded. “He came in all excited to tell me about the private eye who helped him find Sergeant Pepper. High-profile or not, that was some good work!” She turned to the blonde woman sitting next to her. “You’d appreciate that one, Stace. Turns out the dog had been dog-napped by someone across town because she needed a purse puppy to match her outfit for some gala or something. Cok - Marguerite - figured it out because the idiot posted pictures on Instagram with the hashtag #puppycouture.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Gross. I can appreciate good accessories, but I draw the line at living things.” She turned to me. “It’s been a while.”

“Stacey McGill, right?”

“Stacey McGill-Thomas now, actually.” Judging by the absolute ROCK on her left hand, she could indeed appreciate a good accessory.

“Oh, right! I forgot - you married Kristy’s brother, right?”

She nodded. “Sam. Weird, isn’t it? You grow up with these guys and think you know them, and then all of a sudden they’re grown up and you realize they’re different than you ever thought. I mean, in my case I had this HUGE crush on Sam in middle school, but I thought I was over it by the end of high school. Then who showed up on Match.com a year after graduate school but Sam Thomas.” She sipped her water. “Small world, I guess.”

“No kidding.”

Kristy cleared her throat. “If we can stop talking about my brother as an object of romantic attention… Jessi, you remember Cokie Mason, right?” In response to my glare, she added “Marguerite Mason professionally.”

I didn’t remember Jessi so much as know who she was. Back in school, we didn’t really associate - she was two years younger than the rest of us, and was always busy with dance. But after we graduated she went on to become kind of a big deal in the ballet world, until aninjury ended her professional career. She moved back here and started a ballet school, though, and from what I hear it’s one of the best.

She smiled. “I do! It’s nice to see you again, Marguerite.”

“And Mallory Pike.” Kristy gestured to a woman I can only describe as statuesque, but in the most complimentary way. Even sitting down, it was clear she was tall, and she had this amazing curly auburn hair. Mallory I DID remember, though she must have hit a growth spurt after she dropped off my radar. Her family is hard to forget, just in terms of sheer numbers. She has about a million brothers and sisters.

“Did you ever meet Shannon Kilbourne? She went to Stoneybrook Day, so you may not have known her.”

I shook my head. I’m pretty sure I would remember her - an absolutely tiny blonde woman with a nose that my nose was jealous of (even though I paid for mine way back when). “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” I couldn’t identify her accent - weird, since she had apparently grown up in Stoneybrook, but it sounded vaguely European. Maybe Spanish?

“And Abby Stevenson.” Abby sneezed violently into a handkerchief she whipped out of her purse, delicately patted her nose, and grinned at me. 

“Good to see you again, Marguerite.” Abby is something of a hero in Stoneybrook. She’s been the coach of the high school soccer team for five years, and every year they’ve made state. I know nothing about soccer but even I know that’s impressive.

“And then I’m sure you remember Dawn Shafer and Mary Anne and Logan Bruno.”

I had momentarily let myself feel relief that the introductions were done, but immediately dropped right back into nervous panic as Kristy gestured to the TV, which I had not realized was set up for a video call. Sure enough, there was my middle-school crush, his wife - my childhood arch-enemy - and her step-sister. Oh joy.

“Of course. Good to see you guys as well.” I turned back to Kristy, trying not to snub the video chat but also REALLY hoping to move the conversation along. “I didn’t realize I would be party-crashing. We can talk about this tomorrow, really. Or if you want to just step outside, I can give you a quick rundown.”

“What? No, you’re not interrupting - this is why I asked you to come over. We’ll all on the case.”

On the case? Seriously? Okay, first of all no one talks like that, even those of us who actually DO go on cases. Second, I had some spotty memories of Kristy et al doing some amateur sleuthing back in the day, but I’m an actual professional. And, third, because I’m an actual professional, I’m not in the habit of sharing investigation updates with clients plus their grade school BFFs. 

“You’re what?”

“We’re on the case!” Dawn chimed in from the TV screen. I have memories of her being kind of California hippie in middle school, but she was only at Stoneybrook for a little while before she moved back West. Judging from her crystal necklace and the vast array of bottles and more crystals in the background of her video window, though, she grew out of the “kind of hippie” phase into full-on wellness guru. Cool, but also somewhere between intimidating and weird. “We’re in. The gang is back together and we’re here to help. So what do you know?”

“Um, I’m sorry. I really prefer to only share information I find with my actual client.”

Mary Anne literally cackled. “Well that’s new. The Cokie Mason I remember had no problem sharing information everywhere - legit info or not.” It’s hard to give someone a stare-down via video chat, but dang it if Mary Anne wasn’t managing it.

And yeah, she had a fair point. When I say I was pretty awful in middle school and high school, I’m not trying to get sympathy. I really was. And Mary Anne took the brunt of it. She was quiet, shy, adorable in a little-lost-child kind of way - everything I wasn’t. Worst of all, she dated the guy I had my eye on. Back then, curly blonde hair and a Southern accent was all it took to turn my knees to jelly (thank goodness I grew out of THAT stage), so Logan Bruno really did it for me. But he only had eyes for Mary Anne, which threatened me in ways I didn’t understand. So I was mean. Really mean. Like, spread fake rumors mean.

“That’s a fair point. I think we can all agree that in the past I was a complete asshole, a gossip, and a textbook mean girl. I certainly hope that my ethics and professionalism - not to mention my honesty - has improved since eighth grade. Regardless, my practice is to share information with clients, not with… emergency Babysitters Club meetings.”

Kristy sighed. “Mary Anne, if you can’t get over an actually somewhat true rumor that you were sad to break up with Logan - who, for the record, you ended up marrying - after twenty years, you need to think about therapy. Also, let’s not remember that YOUR plan back then was to enlist Cary Retlin to get revenge. Which, given our current situation, doesn’t reflect well on your character judgement. So can we all just take a step back and calm down?”

Mary Anne continued glaring but at least stopped snarking at me. Logan, for his part, was distracted by what I guessed was their son, who had crept into the room in his PJs.

“Okay then. Let’s get started.” Kristy perched on the arm of Claudia’s chair. “Marguerite, please share what you found. I know that’s not how you like to do things, but I’m just going to come back in here and share it all anyway so you might as well save me the time and cut out one step in the game of Telephone.” She nodded to three boxes of pizza on the coffee table. “Also, everybody dig in. Stacey, there’s a salad for you and Michelle put some salmon in the broiler for you, too. I’m so sorry they didn’t have a cauliflower crust option - this pizza is bread all the way down.”

Resigned, I grabbed a plate, a slice of cheese pizza, and a seat on the sofa next to Jessi. “Fine. I started research today. I hit a lot of dead ends at first, but eventually found a few things. Not a lot, but some.” Balancing the plate on my knees, I pulled my tablet out of my bag.

“I started with some simple searches. I didn’t find a lot - usually with people around our age, social media is a gold mine, but apparently Cary and his wife are both pretty off the grid in terms of the social.” I snuck in a bite of pizza.

“Since Retlin isn’t a super common name, though, I was able to do some digging in newspaper records as well. Turns out, the only Joseph Retlin I could find any birth announcement for was born on the same day as our Joseph Retlin, but in Lexington, Kentucky. Again, all I have is a birth announcement, but the mother’s name is listed as Heather Nelson. No father is listed, but the baby’s last name was definitely Retlin. Middle name Steig.”

Kristy snapped. “Okay, that’s for sure the kid. The kid that Cary SAYS is his is named Joseph Steig Retlin. I remember because I always thought Steig was a kind of weird but cool name, and I’ve never known anyone but Steig Retlin with that name.” Her brow furrowed. “But in Louisville? Cary has supposedly lived in Illinois for years.”

Shannon leaned forward. “Did you find anything else out about the mother? Heather Nelson?”

I nodded. “That’s really sad, actually. A couple months later, she showed up in a news article. Police had been called to her residence for a wellness check after neighbors heard a kid crying. She had overdosed on fentanyl. She was dead by the time they got there - they couldn’t even try reviving her with narcan.”

I heard a sniff on the TV and looked over. Mary Anne was wiping her eyes. “That’s so sad. What happened to the baby?”

“All the article said was that it had been released to a family member.”

Mallory stood up and started pacing. “Okay. So do we think that the family member was Cary? And the baby’s actual dad is - who? Steig? But if that’s it, then why are Cary and - what’s his wife’s name?”

Kristy and I answered at the same time. “Amanda.”

She nodded. “Then why are Cary and Amanda so adamant that Joseph is theirs?” She turned back around dramatically. “It’s like a book. The case of the stolen baby. Except I guess he isn’t technically stolen if they adopted him.”

“But still. If you could hear the way they fell over each other about how he is their little guy and doesn’t he look just like daddy...” Kristy trailed off.

Stacey cleared her throat. “Okay, just throwing this out there, but maybe Cary and Amanda are just trying to make sure Joseph feels like he really is theirs. Maybe they were the family he was released to, and they’re just working really hard to reassure him that he’s theirs.”

I turned to Kristy. “Look, I can keep looking, but vital records like birth certificates and adoption papers are private. I was only able to find as much as I did because it was a slow news day the day Heather Nelson died - it’s awful to say, but someone dying of an opioid overdose isn’t really news any more. From here, I really think the best thing to do is to just talk to Cary. You don’t have to reveal that you hired me, but just tell him that the nanny had some concerns and that it feels like you are missing some information. You can even threaten to pull Sara out - the risk of losing a good nanny might prompt more honesty than anything else.”

“Ugh, no kidding,” Mary Anne said. “If we could get a good nanny I’d give literally ANYTHING to keep her. Are you sure you aren’t going to open a Louisville branch, Kristy? These four boys are about to kill me.”

Kristy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I see all your #boymom posts, Mary Anne. We all know you love it. And fine. I’ll talk with Cary. I still don’t think he’ll say anything - and he might fire us - but fine.” She pushed a pizza box closer to me. “Have another slice. Did you learn anything else about the mom?”

I nodded. “Not a lot. It’s a little weird; the obituary didn’t even mention a baby, but it just listed her 'survivors' as -” I checked a note, “two brothers and one sister-in-law, Andrew, Jason, and Melissa Nelson.”

Mary Anne and Logan had both been turned from the camera to talk to a kid, and Shannon had been reaching for a slice of pizza, but suddenly all three of them jerked up to stare at me.

“Heather Nelson was Jason and Andrew Nelson’s sister?” Mary Anne’s voice practically dripped with horror. Shannon sat back in her seat, still looking at me.

“Yeah. Why? Do you know them?”

Shannon stood quietly and slipped through a door. Logan nodded. “Most people around here do. Andrew and Jason lead this group outside of Louisville. I mean, some people say it’s a militia or something, but it’s essentially a terrorist group. Skinhead, neo-Nazi scum, well-armed and full up on hate and bullets. They’ve been in and out of jail a lot for all sorts of crap.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine any of the Retlin guys getting mixed up in that family, even if the sister wasn’t a flaming racist.”

To be honest, I was only half listening to the conversation. I was still eying the door Shanonn had disappeared through. She had mostly closed it behind her, but I could see her pacing and talking on her phone. Even as I watched, she hung up and came back in.

“Marguerite, you said all the information you found was public, right?” She stared me down, suddenly intimidating.

“Yeah. I mean, I had to dig some for it, but so far it’s just been some entry-level stuff. Why?”

“And what was the name of the newspaper with the announcement?”

I checked. “The Shepherdsville Gazette. Again - why?”

She sent a text before answering. “Just checking a couple details. Kristy, can I talk to you? And probably Marguerite as well?”

Kristy nodded. Since I didn’t really see an option, and was hoping for some information instead of stonewalling, I followed them back out the front door and onto the porch.

“What is going on here?” I leaned against the porch railing, facing Shannon. “Who were you calling and texting?”

She sighed. “Kristy didn’t explain what I do. I’m a data analyst with the NSA.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A data analyst? Seriously? Isn’t that the classic cover? I mean, even Jack Ryan is a ‘data analyst.’”

She held my gaze. “We have a lot of data to analyze. Anyway, one of the teams I’ve been working with is interested in the group the Nelson brothers run. Like Logan said, it really is a terrorist organization. There have been multiple attacks on civilians, clearly motivated by ideology, and carried out in ways specifically designed to terrify people. A few weeks ago, chatter picked up about the brothers taking a trip north. We’ve been trying to figure out why and where. The only hint we had was of something about a kid. Again, we couldn’t figure out what kid or why that particular kid was important, but now they had dropped in stuff about ‘rescuing’ the kid from ‘race traitors.’ Now, thinking that this kid might be Joseph Retlin…” She shook her head. “Kristy, I think you should call Cary and his wife. They need to know their family might be in danger.”

Kristy groaned. “And how am I supposed to make that call? Just tell him I hired a PI to investigate him, and also by the way his kid’s life is in danger?”

I agreed. “She’s got a point. It’s an awkward conversation any way you look at it, and it might be better coming from someone he knows a little better. I mean, Kristy and Cary weren’t terribly close in school, and even that was fifteen years ago.” I pulled out my phone. “You’re going to owe me for this, Kristy.” I hit the first name in my favorites list. “Hey, hon. Slow night?”

Between the four of us - me, Alan, Kristy, and Shannon - we agreed that Alan and I would meet with Cary and Amanda privately. Alan would set it up as a way to reconnect, then we would spill the beans about what Kristy had hired us for. Alan agreed to call that night to set a time. Shannon wanted the conversation to happen fast, but was okay with it being delayed a few hours.

Kristy invited me back inside, but I bowed out. Halfway back to my car, though, I turned back around. “Hey, Kristy. There is one thing I wanted to ask. Our assistant quit a couple weeks ago. I don’t suppose you have any nannies who want to get out of childcare and into office work?” It was a long shot, but I’m awful at office work and Alan is even worse, and I hadn’t had time to do any advertising.

“Actually - no, I’m not letting you steal any nannies, but there is someone I know who would be great for that…”


	4. Chapter 4

On the one hand, I realized the next morning, Karen Brewer seemed completely different from her step-sister. On the other, though, I had a feeling she had the same take-charge personality that made Kristy Thomas such an annoying badass.

They definitely didn’t share a fashion sense. Kristy is 100% business, no frills, no fuss. Karen wasn’t so much frills and fuss as intense. Her wardrobe was a walking definition of Goth, and I counted at least 13 visible piercings: five in one ear, six in the other, a stud in her nose and the one in her tongue clicking against her teeth slightly as she talked.

“Kristy said you needed someone immediately.” She looked around. “Not to be mean or anything, but it kind of looks like you needed someone last week.”

I shrugged. “Pretty much. We’re not great at the office-type stuff.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Good thing I love organizing.” She dropped her purse - it was frog-shaped, and the only splash of color in her otherwise black outfit - on the reception desk. “So, am I hired? Is all this” - she gestured to herself - “not a problem? Because it was apparently a problem at my last gig, and I don’t really want to go through all that again. I’m not a sweater sets and pearls kind of person.”

“Yeah, this isn’t really a sweater sets and pearls kind of office, either. We’re good with piercings, tattoos, whatever, and the dress code is pretty lax. Basically, please cover up the essential bits and don’t come in wearing pajamas. If I have an issue with something I’ll let you know, but if today is an indication of the future, you’ll be fine. Your actual ability to do the job is more important. Clearly, we have some backed up paperwork that needs filing. We’re both out of the office fairly often, so we like having someone here to answer phones, take messages, take down notes if someone comes by when we’re out, that kind of thing. And we need someone who can keep their mouth shut about our cases. A lot of times, silence is the thing that prompts a break in a case, so you need to be comfortable sitting in a room with someone else in silence. How are you at that?”

She sat down at the desk and started shuffling papers in silence. After about three minutes, she looked up, gave a half smile, and then turned to the computer and started typing randomly. Finally, she looked up. “How was that?”

I laughed. “Not bad. You’ll do. Let me get the paperwork we need to get you set up.”

Alan was already in our shared office and looked up when I came in. “Well?”

“I think she’ll be good.” As I sat down to print out the paperwork, I heard the door to the main office open and close. Karen’s voice carried clearly as she asked the newcomer how she could help them. I started to get up, but Alan motioned for me to wait and see how she did.

The reply to her question was muffled, but apparently the person asked to see Alan, because we could hear her answer, “Let me see if he is available. Please, have a seat.”

She poked her head in. “Mr. Gray, are you available? I have a Mr. Cary Retlin here to see you.”

Alan’s eyebrow rose as he looked over at me. “Yeah, send him in.”

She nodded and went back to her desk. “Mr. Gray will see you now.”

Alan leaned toward me. “We may have to talk with her about the Mr. Gray stuff.”

I chuckled. “I don’t know - I may like being Ms. Mason.”

He rolled his eyes at me as Cary Retlin walked in. “Cary! How’s it going? We weren’t expecting to see you until later.”

Cary shook his hand and they did the bro-hug thing guys who knew each other in high school but haven’t talked since do. “Yeah, I wanted to stop by and say hi and talk a little. Cokie Mason! Is that you?”

I smiled at him. “It is! I go by Marguerite now, though. It’s so good to see you!”

He sat in the chair across from Alan’s desk. “Hey, I was really glad to bump into you the other day, and then when you called last night I figured it was a sign. I’m in a… well, a weird situation. I know you’re not a cop or anything, but you’re a PI, so I’m hoping you can maybe help.”

Alan glanced at me. “Yeah? What’s up?”

And so it all came out. Stieg, his relationship with Heather, Stieg’s disappearance several years earlier - “he just dropped off the map. We knew he wasn’t dead, but we had no idea what was going on” - the birth of baby Joseph, Heather’s death, a frantic phone call from Stieg begging Cary to take Joseph in, the details of how Cary and Amanda learned about Heather’s brothers, Stieg’s long-distance insistence that Joseph might be in danger. And, finally, a call from Stieg just days earlier warning that the brothers might be planning something.

Alan set back in his chair. “Oof. That’s a lot.”

Cary nodded. “Yeah.”

Alan looked over at me and raised an eyebrow.

Now is when I say that Alan can be very expressive with his face. Sure, he can keep a poker face when needed, but he can also do a very good “so you’re going to take this one, right?” when needed, as well. Unfortunately.

I sighed. “Cary, there are some things you should know. Mostly, you should know that we knew a lot of this already.”

He flinched and turned to me. “What? How?”

“Oh, blood types and nannies and the Babysitters Club, mostly. It started when your nanny realized that Joseph’s blood type didn’t match up to yours and Amanda’s. So she mentioned it to her boss - Kristy Thomas. Kristy came to me asking me to do some discrete investigation. When I found Joseph’s birth announcement and Heather’s death announcement, we figured that you were probably the one who took Joseph. And then Mary Anne Speir-Bruno and Shannon Killbourne connected the dots to Heather’s brothers. This is what we were hoping to talk to you about later on, anyway. Apparently Stieg is right to be concerned about Joseph’s safety.”

Cary scowled. “Damn. Kristy Thomas. I should have known better, but she runs the best agency around and we really needed a nanny. But - crap. I should have known. She and her friends always were nosy about their ‘investigations,’ even in middle school. Remember in eighth grade, when they claimed they solved all kinds of mysteries - even though they were wrong like, half the time? I ended up in detention because she swore I was the vandal.” He shook his head and half-smiled. “I guess she was on the right track this time, though. So - how concerned should I be about Heather’s scummy brothers?”

“According to Shannon Kilbourne, you should be pretty concerned.”

“I’m sorry, who is Shannon Kilbourne?”

“Apparently she’s a friend of Kristy’s from way back. But now, she works with the NSA. She has been working with a team tracking chatter out of the Nelsons’ group, and a lot of it seems to be centering on one kid who is in the vile clutches of some race traitors. Given your situation, Shannon thinks that kid might be Joseph, in which case the danger is very real. Actually, I should probably loop her in. Do you mind if I call her?”

Cary shook his head. “Go ahead. I should call Amanda, anyway. I’ll step out to do that while you call this Shannon person.” He pulled out his phone and then waved at Karen as he stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of our office.

Shannon was happy to hear that we had already talked to Cary, but worried that Stieg was off the grid in general but worried enough to call his brother with a warning. She asked that we keep Cary at our office, and by the time we hung up she was already heading north from her office in NYC.

“Okay. Shannon’s heading this way - she’d like to meet the whole family here. Will you check with Cary to see if Amanda can come by, and if Sara can bring Joseph?”

“Sure.” Alan stood and stretched. “You know, I definitely didn’t think on Monday that a significant portion of this week would be spent working with both Kristy Thomas and the NSA.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t on my schedule for the week either. It’s weird - suddenly we’re in the middle of a crime novel.”

My phone buzzed as Alan headed out to talk to Cary. It was Kristy.

“Hey, Kristy! What’s up?”

She sounded more frantic than I had ever heard her. “Have you heard from Cary at all today?”

“Yeah, actually, he’s here at the office. He just stepped out to call his wife. Why? Oh, hey, hang on, Kristy.” Alan was motioning for me frantically.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Cary left. Karen said he went outside, called his wife, ‘turned completely white’ as she put it, and then literally ran to his car.”

“Crap. Hey, Kristy? Apparently Cary just left.”

“And I can give you a good idea of why. Sara just called me - Joseph has been kidnapped.”

Alan started frantically calling Cary as Kristy and I added Shannon into our phone call. Shannon, needless to say, was less than happy to hear that (1) the kid we were all supposed to be protecting had been kidnapped and (2) we had no idea where his dad had gone.

Kristy explained that Sara and Joseph had gone to the park, just like they did most days. They had shared a snack on a bench, then Joseph got up to go play. Apparently as he got up, he spilled the container of snacks on the ground, so Sara took a minute to clean that up. When she looked back up, he was gone.

“So theoretically, he could have just wandered off, right? He could still be somewhere in the park?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Kristy answered. “But Sara scoured the place, then she called the police, Joseph’s mom, and me.”

“And then Amanda must have told Cary, which made him leave here so suddenly. So are we thinking that Joseph was snatched by the Nelsons?”

Shannon groaned. “It’s our working assumption, yes. My team picked up some increased chatter this morning from their group - it’s safe to say they’re up to something, and it fits that this kidnapping is that ‘something.’ I’m almost to Stamford. I’ll hop in an Uber and get there as soon as possible. Kristy, where are Amanda and Sara right now? Are they with the police?”

“Yes; I’m with them at Cary and Amanda’s house. I can text you the address. Should we let the police know all the background?"

“I’ll handle that. I have a team coming to join me - they’ll be there as soon as they can get to Stamford. In the meantime, Kristy, try to keep Amanda and Sara calm. Has Amanda said anything to the police or to you about Joseph’s uncles?”

“Not to me - and if she mentioned it to the police, she did it very quietly and they’ve kept it hush-hush. She keeps checking her phone, but I guess that’s to be expected.”

“It is - but it’s interesting that she didn’t mention the family complications. Even if they tried to keep things quiet, I would think that a clear threat to her son would make her speak up.”

Alan waved at me urgently from the office, pointing to the ringing phone in his hand. “Hey guys, Alan needs me so I’m gonna get off here. Keep me updated and let me know what we can do.”

Hanging up, I joined Alan and Karen in the office. He held his finger to his lips as he answered the phone. “Hey, Cary. What’s going on? You ran out of here pretty fast and kind of scared our assistant.”

“They got my kid, man. His filthy skinhead uncles.”

“Cary, I just got off the phone with Shannon. She and her NSA team are on the way.”

He laughed slightly hysterically. “Oh great. So they can, what? Tell me all about the trash family my brother got involved in? You know he was actually a part of that group. That’s how he met Heather. Then he finally decided not to be a complete waste of a human and left the group, but had to go so far underground that he couldn’t even take his own kid when Heather died. He was all in a panic when he called me to take Joseph. He said the only way Joseph would be safe is to get him out of there. I guess I was an idiot to think that I could protect a kid from that. We should have gone further away, gone underground, changed out names…”

Alan finally interrupted him. “Hey. Stop it. Stop blaming yourself. This is not your fault. And the police and the NSA team are all on top of this. They’ll find Joseph and they’ll handle his uncles. Where are you right now?”

Cary sniffed. “I’m on my way to the house. Amanda is there.”

“Okay. Do you want us to come be with you? Or would we be in the way?”

“Come on over. The more eyes on this the better, I guess. Amanda’s calling; I gotta go.”

He hung up. Alan ran to grab our things out of the office.

“Karen, we’ve got to run. I’m so sorry to leave you here on your first day - we haven’t even done your paperwork. Feel free to lock the door if you want to act like no one is here, but would you at least stay and cover the phone for us?”

“Of course.” Karen’s eyes were wide. “Can I do anything else?”

I threw her a tight smile as we headed to the door. “Not right now. I’ll call if anything comes up. Thanks.”


	5. Chapter 5

In Stamford, the Retlin house was in barely controlled chaos. By the time we arrived, we had to park down the street and walk past multiple police cars. Inside, Shannon and her team had arrived and set up camp with the Stamford police officers in the living room. Cary and a woman who I assumed was his wife sat holding hands on the couch. Kristy and another young woman - presumably Sara, the nanny - stood awkwardly against the wall. Alan went over to see Cary, and I joined Kristy and Sara.

“Any news?”

Kristy shook her head. “Nothing yet. They’ve put a trace on both Amanda and Cary’s phones in case there’s a ransom call. Shannon’s team just got here - it sounds like they don’t think there will be a ransom. From what they picked up, the goal was always to bring Joseph back to their compound in Kentucky, not to squeeze Cary and Amanda for money.” She rubbed Sara’s back gently as the younger woman cried. “At least we can be relatively sure that they don’t want to hurt him.”

“I guess that is some consolation. But they don’t have any idea of how to find him now? Do they have a plan to raid the compound or anything?”

Kristy shrugged. “They haven’t mentioned it - and they wouldn’t be able to make it back there for hours, anyway. They put out an Amber alert already.”

I nodded. I’d seen the alert on my phone on the way here.

Shannon came to join us. “Sara, could you come look at some photos? I know you didn’t see anyone take Joseph, but we’d like you to look at some pictures to see if you might recognize anyone you saw at the park today or even earlier this week.”

Sara nodded and followed Shannon back to the center of the hubbub. Alan squeezed Cary’s shoulder and came over to join me and Kristy.

“How’s he doing?”

“About like you’d expect. He’s a wreck.”

“Sara’s looking at some photos for Shannon. I’m guessing they’re of the Nelson brothers?”

He shrugged. “Probably. The cops and the NSA team are all pretty tight-lipped.”

Here’s the thing. In movies and TV shows when there’s a kidnapping, things seem to happen fast. I can now confirm that that is because of the magic of editing. At least in this case, things did not seem to happen fast. That entire day was spent sitting in the Retlin living room. Alan and I weren’t really sure why we were there - emotional support? - but it felt weird to leave, too, so we just tried to stay out of the way and be helpful when we could. Around 1 p.m., we went to pick up lunch for everyone in the house, NSA and SPD included. (As a PI, it never hurts to have the cops liking you.)

Finally - and in retrospect, I guess this was “happening quickly” in that it happened that day, but it seemed like it took forever - Shannon took a phone call around 4 p.m. and came back in looking even more business-like than usual. To my surprise, she headed over to me, Alan, and Kristy first.

“One of our analysts back in NYC just picked up a message on a board we know is connected to the Nelson brothers.” Her voice was low. “There’s a lead on their location, just outside of Stamford. My team and I are going to take the SPD officers and go check things out. We’ll take the parents with us, and hopefully we’ll find the boy there. But in case something happens here, can the three of you stay behind? There’s still a chance that he did just wander off and could be brought back here. If you can keep Sara here, that would be good, too - so he’ll have a familiar face if that does happen.”

“Of course.” Kristy spoke for all of us, taking her usual leading role.

Shannon looked at me and Alan. “And speaking of just in case: Any chance either of you are armed?”

I nodded. Shannon headed to the center of the room to gather her team.

Kristy looked at me like I had just cursed in church. “You have a gun?!”

I rolled my eyes at her dramatic tone. “Yes. A few years ago, there was a sticky situation on a stakeout. I got my carry license after that. I haven’t ever had to use it and I still don’t plan to, but if necessary - yes, I have a gun. I don’t like it, but my job does on occasion take me into some dangerous situations.”

She wrinkled her nose. “But couldn’t you carry, I dunno, a Taser or something?”

“Tasers are only permitted for home defense in Connecticut. So no, I could not legally do that.”

“Weird.”

“Yep.”

We watched as the rest of the room emptied. Alan slapped Cary on the back, Sara hugged Amanda, and then Shannon drove the two Retlins down the driveway.

The room that had been crammed full of people for hours was suddenly empty and silent. I picked up a few lingering pieces of lunch trash and carried them into the kitchen. In the other room, I heard Alan asking Sara about her college classes. Never met a stranger, that guy.

I figured while I was in the kitchen I might as well make myself useful. We had picked up paper goods when we got lunch, but there were still several dirty coffee mugs in the sink. I rinsed them out and loaded them into the dishwasher, then tied off the trash and pulled it out of the trashcan to take outside. As I was headed toward the porch door, Alan’s phone rang. I ran over to the door to the living room to poke my head in.

“It’s Cary.” He put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Cary.”

“He’s not here.” Cary sounded completely dejected. “They found the place. The Nelson brothers are both here - they arrested both of them on weapons charges - it’s basically an arsenal here - but Joseph isn’t here.”  
Alan’s shoulders drooped. “Do they have any leads? Are the brothers talking at all?”

As Cary started to answer, I felt the trash bag start dripping on my leg. Grimacing, I held it out and headed outside to the bin on the curb. I swung it up and in, and as the lid closed a car turned into the driveway.

“Oh. Oh. ALAN! SARA! KRISTY!” Completely oblivious to the quiet neighborhood, I fully screamed as the car slowed to a stop in front of me.

Alan and Sara burst out of the house. Sara paused just long enough to realize what was happening, then ran to the passenger side of the car and yanked the back door open. I crossed to the driver’s side, hand on the gun concealed at the small of my back. Alan ran to my side and looked into the car.

“Stieg?!?”

As Sara pulled Joseph out of the back seat, I realized he was right. The man driving the car was, in fact, Cary Retlin’s supposedly deep underground little brother.


	6. Chapter 6

*Two days later*

“So the whole time it was Stieg who had Joseph?” Mary Anne’s voice had picked up some Louisville twang which, I hated to admit, suited her.

Shannon nodded. “Yep. He was still monitoring the message boards the group used and realized that the Nelsons were heading up here to kidnap him. So he beat them to the punch and grabbed Joseph at the park. But in the midst of that, he lost the burner phone he had, so he couldn’t let Cary know what was going on. When we raided the warehouse where the brothers were holed up, they were getting ready to kidnap Joseph themselves. We found enough evidence there to put them away for a long time. And, what’s more, Stieg agreed to come in, himself. The Retlins aren’t pressing charges against him - though Cary did land one pretty good punch on his little brother - but Stieg agreed to turn state’s evidence on what he saw and knew when he was part of their organization back before Joseph was born.”

“Wow.” Claudia grabbed a handful of Reese’s Pieces from the bowl on Kristy’s coffee table. “That’s crazy.”

“Yep. No other word for it.” Kristy bit into a chicken wing. “And as a side note - Marguerite can scream like a banshee when she needs to. I was in the house and my ears were ringing.”

I shrugged and sipped my soda. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? You guys sure got out to the driveway fast.”

Stacey laughed. “Kristy’s just jealous because your scream is louder than her whistle.”

Kristy rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The game’s about to start.”

We were all gathered in Kristy’s living room again - Kristy and Michelle, Stacey and Sam, Shannon, Mallory, Abby, Jessi, Claudia and her partner Michael, and me and Alan, plus Dawn, Mary Anne, and Logan on video - waiting for a football game to start. Kristy had apparently decided that Alan and I were new inductees into what she still insisted on calling the Babysitters Club, so we were invited to what she had described as a very special watch party.

“I can’t believe Jamie Newton is actually going to start tonight!” Abby bounced in her chair.

“Oh yeah, the kid from Stoneybrook!” Alan turned to Kristy. “Didn’t you babysit him way back when?”

The rest of the room nodded. “We all did! And look at him now. Starting Dolphin quarterback.”

Claudia’s forehead wrinkled. “That’s the one that throws the ball, right?”

Kristy rolled her eyes. “Yes, Claud. That’s the one that throws the ball.”

The conversation quieted as the team captains walked out onto the field. We all cheered as the camera panned around the huge guy wearing the “Newton” jersey.

“Hey Kristy.” Dawn grinned over video as the TV cut to commercial. “I just realized something. I knew the end of this whole episode sounded familiar. You got Buddy Barretted - again.”


End file.
